He's Certainly Feeling Better!
by Germerica
Summary: Alfred has a proper way of thanking Arthur for looking after him when he's sick. Fluff and stuff. USxUK


All he wanted some rest. Was that too much to ask? According to Arthur it was.

Alfred slumped in his cozy chair limply. Arthur paced the floor making curt aggravated hand gestures, ranting obviously, but about what Alfred wasn't sure. He had stopped listening at "_stupid, lazy American." _So he sat there in an uncharacteristically docile state as only his eyes followed the flustered Briton in his ceaseless pacing. Back and forth, back and forth Arthur padded across the carpet. His mouth was moving, but Alfred had no idea what words his lips were forming. He didn't care, either.

_It's kinda sick and ironic how relaxing it is_... Alfred thought, as his eyes continued to follow Arthur's constant pacing, _watching him pace and rant. _In Alfred's unrested mind, it was hypnotic. This trance-like state was all-to-welcome. Alfred's eyelids drooped, then slowly closed.

Arthur began taking deep breaths. Why had he been so angry in the first place? This first thought that came into his mind was, _have I been drinking?_ But he felt totally sober. He crossed that off his list. His gaze fell on Alfred. He bit his lip when he saw him slumped in the red easy chair. In his tantrum had he insulted Alfred? Well, of course had, when didn't he? But had he _truely_ insulted him? A soft snore escaped Alfred's lips and he snuggled into the chair best as he could.

Had he fallen asleep during the rant? For a split second, Arthur took his turn to be insulted. He considered waking up the brat... but then he halted himself to examine his former charge's face. Alfred had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. His features, normally soft, round, and childish were pulled taunt and he looked a few years older (how had Arthur not noticed this?). His skin, normally a warm and golden tan, was paler than usual and Arthur could swear he saw the American shudder in his sleep. Or was he shaking? No, he was shivering.

Arthur padded across the carpet and gently shook Alfred's shoulder. He couldn't help but smile (a tad bit dryly) as Alfred forced one eye open and spoke;

"I'm sleepy, Artie... Lemme sleep..." His voice was a little more than a childish whine, but it was Alfred and Arthur found himself compelled to accept it.

"Get up so we can tuck you in properly. A chair is no replacement for a bed." Arthur half-hearted scolded.

Alfred pulled himself to his feet and shuffled behind Arthur up the stairs to his room. He had to resist instantly collapsing onto the bed and obey Arthur who was demanding he change into his pajama's. Once this task was completed, he fell into the blankets of his bed. It couldn't of felt better.

Arthur gently lay the back of his hand against Alfred's forehead. It was burning hot. After gently asking the American where he kept his thermometer, he returned and placed it into the American's mouth. When it beeped, Arthur read the temperature with sudden alarm.

"My God! 101.2! No wonder you were ready to collapse," Arthur exclaimed, trotting down the stairs to retrieve an ice-pack.

The Englishman gently placed the ice-pack on Alfred's forehead, earning an audible sigh of pleasure from the sudden cool. Arthur pulled a chair to Alfred's bed side and took his hand. Absent mindedly, Arthur began to somewhat massage the other's hand. He applied enough pressure to feel pleasurable, but not hurt the other with the pad of his thumb and fingers. When he felt Alfred's hand was loose, he took his index finger and gently (his finger tip barely grazing the skin) traced the lines in Alfred's palm. The lines of his palm led to the viens in his wrist and he followed the viens until he could not see them because they went deeper into the skin. He then followed the viens back to Alfred's palm. He wasn't sure how long he did this or how many times he traced the other's hand before switching to Alfred's other hand and then started all over.

Arthur pulled himself from the trance he had fallen into by the routine of tracing Alfred's viens when he noticed the ice-pack was beginning to get watery and slushy. He stopped his tracing, causing Alfred to utter a whimper of discontentedness.

"I'll be right back, ol' chap. I have to get you another ice-pack while this one freezes back over."

Arthur trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen. He couldn't help but feel his "brotherly" ways take over. Or, at least they were labeled brotherly in his eyes. Francis, however, harbored a different oppinion. How many times had the frog cornered Arthur after he and Alfred'd had a rather heated discussion, and tried to get him to "admit" his _feelings _for the American. Foolish. Absolutely foolish. There were no feelings. At least not the type Francis constantly implied. But if not... then why was he here? Why didn't he just call Matthew?

These were the things he attempted to block out of his mind as he placed the melting ice-pack back into the freezer and searched for another. Unable to find a second one, he decided to wrap a few ice cubes in a wash cloth. He made his way back up the stairs and gently arranged the homemade ice-pack on Alfred's forehead (Arthur decided it would be safest to place it into a plastic Ziploc bag to prevent water going everywhere once the ice melted).

Alfred opened his eyes as the cool nestled back onto his skin and gave Arthur a small smile.

"Take your shoes off, if you haven't already," he ordered softly.

Arthur raised a brow, but did as was requested and took his shoes off, neatly placing them in the corner of the room out of the way. He then reapproached Alfred's bedside. Alfred then reached up and lightly tugged on Arthur's arm,

"cuddle me..." He whimpered, turning his bright baby blue eyes onto Arthur with a look of sheer innocence.

Arthur couldn't resist. He gently lay down beside the American, wrapping his arms around him in a warm embrace. He was immediately assulted with the scent of Alfred. That warm, masculine scent which reminded Arthur of summer. Or was it autumn? Why on earth did it matter? _Because it matters... _a little voice in the back of Arthur's mind chimed. Arthur ignored it.

Alfred busied himself cudddling into the older nations chest, taking in the warmth of the farmiliar embrace. He felt a slight bit better; mentally if not psychically. He didn't feel like moving to much to see if he had lost that achey feeling once experiences when unwell. He also felt cold, though he knew he was sweating a little bit and his eyes were watering as if he were crying without reason.

But with Arthur there, it wasn't so bad. Sure Francis (and occasionally as hinted by Matthew...he mumbled so much it was hard to tell...) teased him about having a crush on Arthur, but he was his brother, former or otherwise (a brother is a brother, right?). Yet he never directly denied Francis' taunts and teases. Not to mention the Frenchman had an incredible ability to _read the atmosphere_ when it came to the four letter word Alfred had never felt comfortable with. He could feel Arthur's chest rising and falling in a subtle motion with his breathing. It was soothing. Alfred gently closed his eyes.

"Arthur... are you awake?" He whispered hoarsely.

No response. Alfred smiled softly. _Typical Arthur, _He though warmly, _always asleep before you can count to ten..._ Alfred snuggled closer into Arthur and closed his eyes, letting sleep settle over him.

* * *

><p>The next morning Alfred awoke feeling exponentially better. His limbs no longer ached and he wasn't sweating nor was he shivering. He sat up and streched, yawning loudly as he did so. Arthur was no where in sight, but Alfred knew he was around somewhere. It wasn't like him to abandon someone in the middle of night unless said person was Francis (of course in that scenario, Arthur wouldn't be caught dead staying at Francis' house on his own free will unless he was so inebriated that he didn't care, which, sadly, was possible).<p>

Alfred ran a hand through his hair and headed for the bathroom, shedding his pajama's and tossing them to the floor as he did so. The hot and steamy water felt like heaven as it cascaded down his previously sore muscles and clensed his skin that had been soiled with the slight odor of sick and sweat. Alfred took his time lathering and massaging his men's shampoo into his thick blonde locks. He played with different styles using the shampoo as a styling mouse, but his gravity-defying ahoge prevented any real changes so he rinsed the soap from his hair, concluding his shower.

Arthur was on his third cup of tea when Alfred came bounding down the stairs. The Briton couldn't help but notice that his usual youthful spring and bounce was fully loaded back into his step as he slid on the hardwood floor at the base of the stairwell, almost tripping on the edge of the carpet.

"Good morning. I see you're feeling better," Arthur greeted with a nod.

"Yeah, dude!" Alfred called from the kitchen, taking the orange juice carton from the refrigerator and drinking straight from it.

Arthur cringed watching the immature scene and gagged slightly. Alfred, noticed and grinned, wiping some of the juice from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve then licked his lips.

"You really should lighten up, Artie," Alfred said, placing the carton back into the fridge.

Arthur stiffened. _Artie...? Artie? _Arthur's lip curled up into a malicious snarl.

"What did you just call me...?" He said the words slowly with a venomous amount of cold control.

Alfred grinned mischeviously, "Oh? Is it getting harder to hear in your old age, _Artie?_ Well I called you _Artie_." He said, taking a step closer to the elder nation.

Arthur could feel his face and ears getting hot and he knew a that a red tint was pooling in his ears and cheeks. Alfred continued to approach, causing the sputtering, furious Englishman to back up until he felt his back collide with the counter. Alfred placed his hands on either side of Arthur, trapping him between himself and the counter. Arthur's eyes widened in response to the sultry look upon the American's face. Alfred leaned in, his nose barely brushing against Arthur's. The suddden contact sent a shiver dancing up ever nerve in Arthur's body.

"You're so handsome when you're angry... Has anyone ever told you that?" He asked, his voice was soft, charming... seductive.

Arthur's heart thudded in his chest as he tried to steadily respond, "N-no... Not that I can recall..."

He turned away from Alfred, but the American gently slipped his hand under Arthur's chin, turning his head to face him. Arthur's heart was racing. What was he doing...? Why was he letting this happen...? All logic told him to slap Alfred, but the logic wasn't clicking into place with his brain. His emerald eyes were transfixed on the saphire eyes in front of him. He felt soft lips on his own. He closed his eyes, melting in the arms of the other.

When they finally parted, Alfred spoke, "Thanks for looking out for me..." He whispered.

"You can thank me by doing that again..." Arthur replied, leaning back into Alfred.

**Author's Notes**

...Ehem. Well now. This isn't what I usually do... I'm such a wuss. Haha! UsXUk is my CRACK, so I couldn't resist. I'm really not sure if there will be more to this, so I'm thinking it will just be a one-shot (seeing as how it took me **almost a week and a half** to write...) Gah... I'm so sorry. This sucks. Baha. I'm just glad its done, honestly. Feedback is nice so drop me a message and/or messages. Thanks for reading!


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